


February 2nd

by AndWeMutate



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Choking, Dry Humping, February 2nd, M/M, persona 5 royal spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29630298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndWeMutate/pseuds/AndWeMutate
Summary: "He’s a rabid animal, teeth bared and eyes wide and wild. “I don’t need your damn pity. I don’t need you to fix me.”"On February 2nd, Akechi and Akira have a conversation in order to determine what could happen on February 3rd.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 1
Kudos: 34





	February 2nd

**Author's Note:**

> I spent the beginning of this year playing Persona 5 Royal for the first time and w o w. I had played Persona 5 when it came out originally and fell head over heels, but having waited as long as I had to play Royal??? I hecked up. 
> 
> Anyway, that game (along with one of my best friends who absolutely loves Akechi and this ship) inspired me to kinda just...go with the flow for this little drabble-y thing. Really and truly, thank you, Christine for encouraging me to post this. You're the best~
> 
> So, before I go off on a tangent, I hope you enjoy! ;w; 
> 
> And apologizes for the lame title. Titles are h a r d lol

“You’re not waiting for some sort of epiphany, are you? Some lightbulb moment where I collapse into your arms and beg for my life?” Akechi sneers, hip cocked, a dangerous look in his eyes. 

Akira swallows hard and shakes his head. No, he’d never expect that or anything even remotely similar, not from  _ this  _ Akechi anyway. He’d never beg for anything, not even something as precious as a new lease on a short-lived life. Akechi was so unwilling to take anything from an outstretched hand and try as he might, Akira couldn’t change him. Not then and now now.

“Well?” Akechi glances towards the leader of the Phantom Thieves, strong shoulders weighed down by uncertainty. Such an idiot, a fool cloaked in valor and adorned with a misplaced sense of justice. “What exactly are you expecting from me?”

He chews on the inside of his cheek. Akira knows what he wants to say but his jaw locks. The reply would garner a glare, a furrowed brow and a disenchanted chuckle from the Detective Prince, so why waste the words? Allowing Akechi to simply simmer in silence...it was easier, wasn’t it?

Then again, when did Akira ever do things the easy way?

“I expected you to give a damn about yourself,” Akira says calmly, quietly. 

As expected, Akechi’s brow furrows and a chuckle leaves his lips, shooting a glare in the Phantom Thief’s direction. “You’re ridiculous,” he nearly snarls. “You...with that stupid sunken look on your face. You have the absolute nerve to demand that I--”

“The nerve?” Joker spits back, unable to control the spike in his tone. “Yes, fine, I have the nerve, caring about you more than you care about yourself.” Akira’s heart races and his mouth is dry. He had learned to take Akechi’s new boorish behavior in stride, learned to accept that his softer side had met its end in Shido’s Palace, but this was beyond what Akira was willing to accept. While he understood Akechi’s unwillingness to be bound by Maruki’s will, refusing to act as a puppet with unbreakable strings, to be so willing to forfeit another chance at life…

Akechi’s expression changes. While it didn’t exactly soften, it leans towards neutrality. His lips are drawn into a tight line and his eyes are steadily focused on Akira. Fists clenched at his side, body tense, Crow is unreadable. He wasn’t as transparent as Ryuji or Ann but much more guarded than Makoto or Yusuke. It was something Akira struggled with at times, his inability to even hazard a guess concerning what existed in the labyrinthine mind of the detective. 

“Why?” Before Akira could even answer, Akechi speaks again, “Why can’t you just take the hint? Why can’t I get rid of you?” His words drip with venom, a vicious edge to each syllable. “You and your sympathy and your piy...that damn look in your eyes. I hate it. I  _ hate  _ you.” Akechi had said that very same thing once more but it feels heavier this time. It sounds real. It was deeply rooted in this hysterical sadness that grips Akechi’s heart too tightly. This was beyond their rivalry, beyond reluctant comradery. This was much more profound, something Akechi refuses to admit that he didn't understand.

“Akechi…”

“Don’t,” he responds a little too quickly. “Don’t try and save me. Don’t try and demand enlightenment or insight.” Akechi’s voice changes again, reflecting how on edge he feels, how the situation had backed him into a corner. He’s a rabid animal, teeth bared and eyes wide and wild. “I don’t need your damn pity. I don’t need you to fix me.” 

In reality, Akira did not pity him and he did not want to fix him. He willingly accepted each and every part of Akechi. The jagged, unfinished edges and the polished, perfect ones, he cherishes every aspect of the detective prince. Even if he didn’t approve of his actions, his wayward sense of justice, he understood the dark, twisted place those thoughts came from. Akira has no intention of vilifying Akechi any more than circumstances already had. 

He takes a step forward towards Akechi. Another step. One more after that. The distance between them disappears and without warning, Akira gathers Akechi into his arms, holding him tight against his chest. 

Immediately, the detective bristles and tries to pull away. “What are you do--?”

Akira holds him tighter. Feeling Akechi struggle only causes him to keep him closer. He’s intense and desperate, wanting them to become separate entities again rather than a mass of tangled limbs. “Goro,” Akira begins quietly. Was this the first time he’d called Akechi that? He couldn’t remember. It’d tumbled out of his mouth before he could catch it, but...it feels right. “Let me care about you. Let me give a damn. This isn’t pity or me wanting to fix you. You’re not broken.”

He stops thrashing. His heart continues to rampage and his breathing runs ragged, but he remains ensnared in Joker’s arms. What was happening? How had he lost control of this situation? Akechi had come to LeBlanc to make sure Akira hadn’t done anything foolish in regards to Maruki. The Phantom Thief was soft in a certain regard and he knows that the deranged doctor could dangle his life in front of Akira and he’d have a better chance at making Joker bend and eventually break. It was all a matter of empathy, unreliable and complicating empathy. He is flawed in that regard, weakened by that softness he wore like some tarnished badge of honor. 

Stupid. Why was he so damn stupid?

Akechi exhales. He dare not inhale too deeply, running the risk of falling under Akira’s spell. Unclenching his fists and his jaw, the detective sighs, exasperated and aggravated. “You’re a damn fool,” he mutters.

“Maybe so,” Akira replies, “but be that as it may, I refuse to give up on you.”

Akechi scoffs, “You’re being irrational.”

“I’m being honest.” 

Crow rolls his eyes. What would it take for Akira to realize that it was too little too late? He was beyond saving, beyond redemption, and this was all just a monumental waste of time. Acceptance of that simple truth would make this easier for everyone involved. No more regrets, no more second thoughts. Things would return to the way they were, the way things should be.

With some reluctance, Akechi reaches up and holds tightly to Joker’s shirt. His thoughts are fragmented, splintered and razor sharp. No longer able to focus solely on the importance of the matter at hand, Akechi momentarily considers surrender. It makes him feel weak to think about it, tumbling head first into the overly-romanticized world that Akira had created. Of course it would be easier there, to live in a world where he could simply start over and live a life renewed, untainted by a lack of justice and a series of unfair circumstances. 

It was a lapse in judgement, a moment of selfishness, but maybe Akira could make him better.

“Why can’t you just let me go?”

Akira leans his chin atop Akechi’s head and sighs softly. He had stopped fighting against him and he found some comfort in that. Maybe they’d never see eye to eye, never agree on, well, anything, but this was a start. This was simple and satisfying, something Akira could get used to if he wasn’t careful.

He finally answers, the words tripping over themselves, “Don’t want to.”

Akechi understands the world around him, understands all of the injustices and every way he could change the things around him. He could throw himself into his studies and ace any exam without much thought or effort. All of this and more, Akechi could do without fail, but he had met his match in Akira. He’d never understand him and it causes him grief to even try. It was infuriating to watch Joker and his band of merry idiots chase after righteousness and truth. Moreover, it pisses him off to think that Akira valued his life. He believes Akechi’s existence would change a single thing. He believes choosing Akechi’s life would alter their true reality.

Nothing would change. He and his stupid friends would still right the wrongs of the unjust adults that surround them. The world would continue to spin on its reliable axis. The sun would rise and set unbothered by either the life or the subsequent death of Goro Akechi. It was that simple. The only one who insisted on giving a single shit was Akira. Something about that was beyond frustrating. He was akin to a child, clinging to a childhood relic he no longer needed. The further he tries to pull away, the tighter Akira’s grip became. 

An exasperated sigh leaves Akechi’s lips as he pulls away from the Phantom Thief, only to reconnect them in a bruising, frustrating kiss. A clash of teeth and tongue, it lacks a certain gentility that a kiss should have, but it didn’t dissuade Akira, not in the slightest. Instead, he pushes back. He always pushes back against Akechi, so why would this be any different? Why would he stop now?

Their movements were nearly feral, fingertips digging into fabric and guttural grunts bouncing off the cafe’s walls. It feels as though time was against them so Akechi chooses to race against it with reckless abandon. He chooses to rebel against time itself and, if these were but a handful of his final moments, live them the way he wants to, doing what he wants to. No longer would he be enslaved by responsibility or expectations. This was for him. This was selfish and stupid and a mistake he’d make without hesitation, a regret he’d allow sanctuary in the heart he’d often thought irrepariable. 

Much to Crow’s surprise, it was Joker who took the initiative and pulls his partner closer, taking a few cautious steps backwards. It was an invitation that Akechi willingly accepts, clumsily stumbling through the cafe, past the bathroom and carefully up the stairs. Each creak made by their anxious feet echoes through the stairwell until the familiar scent of dust assaults their senses. 

Akechi had been up here a few times before and its humble appearance never ceases to amaze him. Akira lives like some vagrant, some disappointment they hid away in the attic. Out of sight, out of mind. But, as much as it pains the detective to admit, Akira is an extraordinary force, a spark of brilliance, an amazingly bright light that perhaps shone a bit too brightly for the world that fought to contain him. It feels like acid boring a hole through his belly to praise him this way, even in the privacy of his own mind, but he couldn’t exactly deny any of it. No, he wasn’t stupid. Stubborn, perhaps, but Akechi was not stupid. 

The small room struggles to contain them. Their dizzying dance leads them to Akira’s modest bed, as if drawn there by an unseen magnetic force. Joker’s heels hit the edge of the bed and his feet leave the floor quickly after as Akechi forces him down onto the bed.

Lips separate now, Akira greedily gulps down air, watching Akechi shed his thick winter coat like a second skin and move with surprising grace to straddle his hips. A panting mess, he reaches to grip either side of Akechi’s hips, pressing his thumbs into skin hidden by tasteful fabric. There’s a hunger in his eyes, something wild, but Akira didn’t question it. Instead, he shares that hunger, desperate for Akechi in the absolute worst way.

It’s a series of slow, steady moments at first. Akechi’s deliberate and it shows. He knows exactly how to move, exactly what to do to make Akira’s legs twitch. Rutting against him slowly, carefully, Akechi’s eyes never leave him. He watches Akira bite his lower lip and tilt his head back. He watches Akira's half-lidded eyes aimlessly search for something to focus on as his mind helplessly wanders. He’s so handsome, even when he was slack-jawed and shrouded in a deep, lustful haze. Even then, he was beautiful, thick black hair a mess, clinging to his forehead. So flawed, so damaged, and yet, so painfully optimistic…

Akechi hates him, really and truly. He clings to that bitterness so tightly, unwilling to loosen his grip on that negative connotation he’d attached to the Phantom Thief. A life led drowning in feelings of inadequacy was hard to escape but Akechi, tooth and nail, had clawed his way up and become a prince, transforming himself into a hero of justice and valor. That’s the mask he wore, but it was tarnished and cracked. Akira, however, made it look effortless. He was a vigilante hero of decency and he was so fucking charming to boot. It was infuriating. He didn’t even have to try. He just had this army of devoted deviants, ready and willing to lay their lives on the line for him. For what? What makes him so special?!

Before he realizes it, Akechi reaches forward and wraps his hands around Akira’s neck. He presses the pads of his fingers against warm, delicate skin and he squeezes. The initial shock on Joker’s face is oddly satisfying, wide-eyed and struggling to catch the breath that refuses to come, jaw slack and stifling a gasp or three.

Even on the brink of certain death, he is so fucking perfect. Disgustingly, irritatingly perfect. 

Akechi loosens his grip just enough, but his movements do not stop. He continues to grind against Akira, rolling his hips methodically, rythmicly. Spikes of heat shoot through the detective’s body, causing him to shiver and those sensations continue to multiply, watching the subtle shifts in Akira’s expression.

What little air the Phantom Thief is able to get, he greedily accepts. It takes him by surprise and there was a jolt of panic that shocks his system, but he doesn’t fight against Akechi. That was his first thought; bucking his body upward to break the hold Akechi has on him, but Akira wasn’t afraid. The look in his eyes was menacing, he couldn’t deny that, but he...he trusts him. Akechi had given him little to no reason to be trusted, yet Akira wants so desperately to believe there was something buried deep down within the detective, a softer part of him that believes life isn’t the warzone he’d been forced to believe it was. While he had no intention of attempting to change Akechi, knowing it was a meaningless effort, he foolishly hopes he could expand Akechi’s mind, even a little bit, to show him warmth, compassion and whatever else his life lacks. 

His thoughts were fleeting and his entire world was spinning out of control. His vision blurs and from behind his glasses, he struggles to focus on Akechi. One hand remains on Akechi’s hip, gripping tighter now, while his other hand shoots up to grip Akechi’s wrist. He buries his nails into the exposed skin of the detective’s wrist, yet he didn’t try and pry his fingers from his neck. Even as his mind crackles with fragmented, incomplete thoughts, he summons whatever control remained to roll his hips upward. 

That desperation, the lack of self-preservation...he’s an idiot. Akira really was an idiot. This realization causes Akechi to alter his pace, switching to slower, more languid movements. He immediately notices a difference in Akira, eyes glazing over and small, ragged gasps being the only sounds able to leave him, and Akechi's lips twist into a crooked grin. Watching Joker flicker between consciousness and unconsciousness, life and death, only spurs him on, tempting him to bring Akira closer to that unforgiving edge.

He hates Akira. He could kill him, right here and now...for real this time. To snuff out such a radiant light, steal an inspiration to so many...the temptation was tantalizing, but something feels different this time. Something holds him back; it was soft and it oozes with sentimentality that disgusts him. This wasn’t the sensation he expects, looking down at his hands pressing down on soft flesh.

What had Akira done to him?

“Go...ro,” Joker manages to moan, clearly struggling to piece together even those two syallables. 

Akechi’s eyes widen. His movements momentarily, but he was quick to resume his volitional, insistent rutting. His first instinct was to simply squeeze harder, press a few well placed fingers against Akira’s windpipe and apply enough pressure to shut him up. That’s what kept repeating in the back of his mind, over and over again in a loud, booming voice. However, that’s not what he does. Quite the opposite, actually. He allows the idiot to live. Would he regret that later? Perhaps. He chooses to cross that bridge when he comes to it. Until then, he indulges himself just a little bit and takes in the sight before him; mussed hair, wild eyes and cheeks stained red. He looks so small, so helpless, and Akechi feels satisfaction dripping from each and every pore. To have this level of power and control over someone who looms over him consistently, mockingly...he could ask for nothing more.

They move in frantic unison, Akira desperate to connect and Akechi refusing to offer any distance. While reluctantly loosening the pressure he had placed upon Joker’s neck, he still presses down with unmistakable, wanton intent. He watches intently, eager to see Akira slipping gracefully between gasping for air and groaning for Crow to continue. More. Don’t stop.

The feral grinding, the hungry persistence, could not continue for much longer. Akechi’s eyes lose focus momentarily and the knot in his stomach that he was actively ignoring demands recognition. His body shudders, a wave of pleasure crashing into him with alarming force and it nearly knocks him sideways. Weightlessness soon follows and through gritted teeth and breathlessness, Akechi rides out his orgasm aggressively, completely, his gaze never leaving Akira.

Time slows and things are quiet. Akechi was quick to regain his composure, his rampaging heart resisting its return to its slow, steady pace. There is reluctance in the action, but he looks down at the panting Phantom Thief, and how the hand around his neck looks, how it makes Akechi feel. 

If he could just...keep Akira like this forever, just like this…

Finger by finger, he relinquishes his hold on Akira’s neck, marveling at the faint imprints left behind. It takes everything in the detective not to reach forward and tilt Akira’s head to either side, wanting to examine his handiwork, how he had marked the untouchable Joker.

However, he does not. Rational thoughts prevail and Akechi relents. With a steady sigh, he carefully removes himself from Akira’s lap, aggravated by the nagging thought of how nicely the two had fit together, seamlessly and completely. He shakes his head, hoping the thought would simply vanish, before returning his focus to the still panting Joker. “Clean yourself up,” the detective says coldly, bending down to retrieve his discarded coat. Akechi nonchalantly slides himself into his coat, straightening his clothing with care. He takes a few steps towards the stairs before offering Akira a glance over his shoulder, “Show up tomorrow. No excuses, not a single one.” There’s a fridgitness to his voice, demanding compliance without argument. He doesn’t wait for a reply. Akechi knows Akira isn’t that stupid. “I’ll see myself out.”

With that, Akechi is gone. Quickly, soundlessly, he disappears from the attic and subsequently, LeBlanc. Cautiously, Akira sits up, forcing the world to revive and willing that dizzying feeling away. Clearing his throat, he runs his fingers through his hair and takes advantage of the silence, attempting to make sense of what had just happened.

Before any sort of rationality could make itself known, a familiar voice pulls Akira back to reality. “I just saw Akechi leave,” Morgana hums, jumping up onto the couch. “So, what did I miss?” 

**Author's Note:**

> If you're new here, hi, beta'd by me so I'm sure there's a spelling mistake or grammatical issue here and there - sorry! I chose one tense and kept going back and forth between two different ones. I tried to edit myself as I went on but yeah.


End file.
